


Finding Ballthazar

by porcelain_princess



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelain_princess/pseuds/porcelain_princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nigel Farage and a special friend set out on a mission that brings them even closer. (This is an inside joke seriously if you don't know about this and read it you may be traumatised)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Ballthazar

Nigel Farage woke up to the feeling of something bouncing on his head. “Nigel, Nigel, Nige, Nigey,” repeated a small voice. Nigel sat up, and his best friend fell into his lap, which ironically is where he should have been in the first place.

“Balltholomew? What are you doing?” gasped Nigel, taken aback by the sight of his ball jumping around at this time of day.

“You said that if I still felt the same in 10 years, we could go looking for him. It’s been 10 years since that day, I’ve been counting,” said Balltholomew matter-of-factly.

Nigel gasped aloud. “Ballt, for heaven’s sake!” he yelled. “I said that because I didn’t think that a ball would remember for that long... Ballthazar is gone!” Balltholomew started turning a curious shade of red, and Nigel saw a face appear. It was an angry emoji. “I still don’t know why you had to figure out how to do that on your own,” growled Nigel. “It was better when I could just paint emojis on you to send to my friends.”

Balltholomew rolled off Nigel’s lap and faced away from him. “That’s because you could decide how I was feeling, Nigel. Now I can do my own emojis, you’re forced to admit that I might have feelings of my own, and you don’t like it!”

Nigel put his head in his hands. “Of course I don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re my ball. You’re not supposed to have feelings, you’re not supposed to talk, it wasn’t enough when I dressed you in a sumo suit and a kilt and told everyone your name was David Coburn to get you elected to the Euro parliament to make us more equal, now you want more? You want me to go looking for your long lost twin? Let you bounce around like a pet or a roommate? YOU ARE MY FUCKING TESTICLE, BALLTHOLOMEW!”

Ballt turned to face Nigel again, and to Nigel’s dismay, he was now yellow, with a clearly defined crying emoji visible between his grey wiry hairs.

“Fine,” cried Nigel. “We’ll look for Ballthazar.”

The face immediately changed to a happy emoji, and Balltholomew sprung into the air, making a loud “WOOOO!” sound, that is until he hit the ceiling with an audible splat. “Bloody hell,” huffed Nigel as he stood up and started jumping. He jumped around the room like a kangaroo until Balltholomew fell from the ceiling and into his waiting hands.

Nigel got dressed, put Balltholomew in his boxers and left the house on a very unusual mission: find his long lost ball.

Nigel jumped in his car and drove straight to the hospital where he’d left Ballthazar all those years ago. As he arrived in reception, he considered turning around and leaving again, but Balltholomew knew what he was thinking and played his ace card, something even Nigel had never considered that Ballt could do. Of course, it should have been obvious that if he could do all of the emoji faces, he could also manifest a cactus emoji. As the cactus prickled Nigel’s thighs and buttocks, he swore under his breath and stepped forward.

“Hello, Madam,” he said to the small blonde woman behind the desk. “My name is Nigel Farage, I was here for an operation many years ago, but there’s something I need to ask the surgeon.”

“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “What was the surgeon’s name and the date and nature of the surgery?” He gave her the details she asked for, and she looked it up on the computer. “Mr Farage, I’m afraid Dr. Williams retired soon after that. I’ve heard the story actually, awfully tragic, he had hallucinations during an operation, never trusted himself in theatre again. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

Nigel furrowed his brow. “Hallucinations?”

The receptionist nodded gravely. “It was your operation, Mr Farage. I have a feeling that’s why you’re here, so why don’t I take my break now and we go and talk?”

Nigel agreed, and he and the receptionist, who introduced herself as Lara, walked in silence to the hospital cafe. They ordered a coffee each, although both could have done with something stronger, and sat down.

“I wasn’t here when it happened, but the story is well known around here,” Lara explained. “When the doctor performed your operation, he had a vivid hallucination, he managed to finish but he handed in his resignation that day. They say he thought that, um, well, a part of your anatomy, talked to him.”

Balltholomew. Nigel silently cursed his friend, and struggled to find words. “It was no hallucination,” he choked out, and Lara looked at him, concerned.

“Nigel, what do you mean?” she asked in a whisper, but before Nigel had time to explain, Ballt wriggled upwards out of his belt, through his shirt buttons and bounced onto the table, displaying a faint blushing emoji. “I can explain,” he started, but the woman only screamed in reply. She jumped out of her chair and stumbled backwards before running towards the exit.

“Balltholomew you bothersome ball,” sighed Nigel, and Ballt hopped into his pocket to avoid being seen again as they made their way back to the car.

As soon as Nigel got into the car, Balltholomew bounced out of his pocket and onto the dashboard. “I’m sorry, Nige, I felt guilty and thought I should explain!” he cried.

Nigel slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “YOU ARE A BALL!” he yelled. “You’re not supposed to talk, or be anywhere apart from, you know, your actual place on my body. No one will talk to you, I’m not even sure why I do! It’s crazy! But seeing as you’ve scared that Lara woman half to death, I think we need to track down that surgeon and explain once and for all, maybe we’ll get a lead on Ballthazar while we’re there.”

Nigel spent the rest of the day tracking down Dr. Williams. He finally found an address five hours away, and told Balltholomew, who agreed there was only one thing for it: a road trip.

The next day, Nigel and Ballt set off on their trip. They took Nigel’s vintage motorcycle, Nigel driving of course, and Balltholomew in a sidecar wearing tiny motorcycle goggles; “you don’t have eyes,” Nigel had protested, but to no avail, Balltholomew wanted goggles and Nigel knew from experience that arguing would be futile.

Other than the goggle issue, Balltholomew behaved perfectly, hiding in Nigel’s pants or at least his pocket when they stopped at service stations, resisting the urge to bounce out of the sidecar as a devil emoji to scare Nigel, even giving up his usual habit of hurling himself at Nigel’s ear and screeching “are we there yet?”. Anything to make Nigel see how much this meant to him.

At the first stop, Nigel saw a golf course. “Fancy a round, Ballt old chum?” he asked, and Balltholomew responded with his signature “WOOOO!” and leap into the air. They made their way onto the course, Nigel with his club and set of monogrammed balls, and Ballt with a crash helmet on. Nigel teed up and took shot after shot, while Balltholomew simply hurled himself into the holes.

“HOLE IN ONE AGAIN MOTHAFUCKA” he yelled as he landed yet again in the hole first time.

“Of course, because you’re just charging at the holes!” snapped Nigel. “I’m actually playing golf, you’re just jumping into holes that are exactly the right size for you to fit in, of course you’re winning!” However, his outburst went unheard, as Balltholomew was already on the next hole; the eighteenth hole as it so happened.

“This one for the win,” he said, glowing yellow with the laughing emoji. “GERONIMO!!!”

Nigel put away his club and balls and stormed off to the clubhouse, where he ordered seven pints of beer, but before he could drink any of it he remembered that he had to keep driving. “Give them to anyone who comes in, as long as they’re British,” he said, and stomped back to his bike where he found Balltholomew already waiting in the sidecar. He mounted the bike without a word and drove until he found a hotel. “We’ll stop here for the night,” he told Ballt, who hopped into his pocket excitedly.

They checked in and made their way to Nigel’s room, where Nigel changed into his purple fleecy bear print pyjamas and climbed into bed. “It’s not bedtime yet, Nige!” said Balltholomew. “We haven’t even sung our bedtime song!”

“We can’t do that here,” sighed Nigel. “People know me, know I’m here. If it got out...” he looked at Ballt who had rolled into a corner and was rapidly turning into a sad emoji. “Look, fine. But it has to be quiet!”

And it was, for the first minute. But Nigel and Ballt soon got excited and were stamping and bouncing around the room as if it was their own at home, singing “Nigel and his ball went to mow a meadow, Nigel Nigel Nigel Nigel Nigel Nigel Nigel and his ball, went to mow a meadow!” over and over.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. Nigel opened the door to find a stern man in a suit standing there. “I’m the manager of this hotel,” he said gruffly. “We’ve had four noise complaints, please quieten down or we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” said Nigel, “my friend and I...”

The manager interrupted him. “Your friend? You checked in alone, and I see no one else here. Just pipe down, Farage.” And with that he left.

Nigel and Balltholomew jumped into bed laughing hysterically, and soon fell asleep.

The next morning, they checked out and set off on their trip again. “We should go to the museum! I love pretending to be a rare rock then screaming boo at people, it’s always a right old laugh!” said Balltholomew.

“No,” said Nigel. “We’re not making any more stops for now, I just want to get there already.” And so they drove for two hours straight, both excited and nervous, anticipating what was to come.

Finally, they arrived at the house of Dr. Williams.

“Nigel Farage,” he gasped when he opened the door. “I never thought I’d see you again!”

Nigel shook his hand and stepped inside. “I have a lot to explain to you,” he told the surgeon in a very serious tone. He spent an hour explaining that there had been no hallucination, that he really did have a talking, shapeshifting ball, and finally Dr. Williams agreed to meet Balltholomew.

Ballt bounced out of Nigel’s pocket and sat atop his head in order to be able to face the old man in front of them. “I’m sorry I scared you all those years ago,” he said earnestly. “I really just wanted to know where you were going to put Ballthazar.”

“Ba- Ball- what?” stammered the surgeon. “Ballthazar, my twin who you removed that day,” explained Balltholomew and Dr. Williams sighed.

“Mr. Farage... can I call you Mr. Farage? I don’t know how to address you. But your, err, your twin, I had to dispose of it. I’m sorry. It would have been incinerated the same day. I can’t help you with this. It was making Nigel sick, and there was no other option.” Balltholomew rolled slowly down Nigel’s face and into his lap.

Nigel thanked Dr. Williams, who thanked him in return for validating what he’d seen that day, and they left.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, buddy,” Nigel told Balltholomew as he put his tiny goggles back on and placed him in the side car.

“It’s okay, I knew already,” said Balltholomew. “I just needed to actually hear it, you know? Just to know he was gone. But the truth is I actually like it being just me and you. We’re like Dick and Dom, or the Chuckle Brothers!”

“Yeah, if one of the Chuckle Brothers had been a talking ball,” muttered Nigel, and Ballt pretended not to hear.

Nigel revved up the motorcycle and as they sped off into the sunset, homebound, Balltholomew sang softly to himself. “Nigel and his ball, went to mow a meadow..”


End file.
